Echo
by Shirleylocked
Summary: While on an undercover assignment Lestrade is killed. Mycroft has a difficult time dealing with this and starts to have a nervous breakdown. PLEASE READ THE FIRST NOTE! Mystrade, oneshot.


**READ THE ENTIRE NOTE!**

**My first Mystrade, and it's a tear-jerker.**

**I got the idea from a video on Youtube called Echo... **

**SO I DON'T OWN THIS IDEA. I JUST HAD TO SEE IT WRITTEN DOWN! Forgive me please.**

**(Duchesscloverly, if you want me to take it down I will. Couldn't get ahold of you to ask you, but if you want this taken down I will)**

**That being said please go watch the heartbreaking video: .com (slash) watch?v=LO_NV5_LzSo&feature=player_embedded**

**All credit goes to BBC and the Duchesscloverly.**

**Thanks for reading.**

* * *

Echo

Mycroft waited patiently next to his phone, until the tell-tale text beeped in his office. He smiled brilliantly and looked at his phone.

_Just one more week, My, I am nearly finished here. –GL_

Mycroft relaxed at the comforting words from his love.

_Be safe, I love you.—MH_

It had taken Mycroft Holmes nearly three years to be able to tell Lestrade those words, but now he made sure to send them to him every chance he got.

_I will be. I love you too… I have to go…someone might notice. Talk to you soon. –GL_

Mycroft frowned. The conversations with his undercover love had gotten increasingly short with each passing day. Mycroft frowned and didn't reply, knowing that it could get Lestrade into trouble if he did. He slowly walked towards the fireplace and stared into it. It was Christmas and Lestrade wasn't there to celebrate with him…

Somewhere between all of the worrying for Lestrade's well-being. Mycroft fell asleep in the chair by the fire place.

888

Sherlock looked at his ringing phone and his eyebrows scrunched together. "Why would Sally call me?"

"Emergency?" John wondered, standing in Sherlock's bedroom doorway. Sherlock debated for a moment with himself before answering it and lifting it to his ear.

"Sherlock Holmes…" Sherlock could hear Sally crying on the other end of the phone. He sat up instantly, a serious look on his face. John stepped fully into the room, noticing Sherlock's tension. "What is it? Why are you crying?"

"Lestrade…god…he's been shot, Sherlock." Sally cried. "He's dead…" Sherlock froze and remained completely still.

"Sherlock? What's happened?" John wondered kneeling in front of Sherlock and holding onto his free hand tightly.

"Are you alright?"

"Physically, yes…but, god…I don't know what to do."

"Are you alone? Is there anyone good or bad around you?"

"I've called for back-up, I'm alone right now." Sally sobbed quietly.

"Okay…I have to make some calls now… I'll get back to you, alright? Stay with him."

"I will." Sally promised before she hung up. Sherlock lowered his phone and looked at John with tears in his eyes.

"What is it?" John pleaded.

"Lestrade has been murdered." Sherlock said quietly, tears running down his face.

"Oh god…" John shuddered.

"I've got to call Mycroft… I don't know what to say."

"Why do you need to call Mycroft? What is Lestrade to him?" John wondered curiously.

"What are you to me, John?" Sherlock replied quietly before dialing the number and pressing the phone to his ear.

888

Mycroft woke to the sound of a phone ringing. He blinked once and pulled the phone out of his jacket. He was surprised to see Sherlock's name on the caller ID, Sherlock never called, especially not on Christmas. He pressed the phone to his ear.

"Mycroft…"

"What is it Sherlock?" Mycroft asked worriedly noting the distress in his brother's tone.

"Are you sitting down?"

"Yes, why?" Mycroft asked cautiously.

"My…Lestrade was shot and killed today."

Everything froze for Mycroft, there was nothing…

"My? I'm coming over alright? Wait for me please." Sherlock ordered, but Mycroft only heard part of it before the phone fell to the floor and he slummed in the chair, unconscious.

888

"My? Mycroft?" Sherlock's deep voice woke Mycroft. The pain instantly washed over Mycroft and he fell forward into Sherlock's arms.

"Sh-lock?" Mycroft sobbed into Sherlock's shoulder.

"I've got you…It's alright…" Sherlock promised. But they both knew it was far from alright. Mycroft cried against Sherlock until there were no tears left.

"I w-ant to s-see him…" Mycroft stuttered out.

"I don't think that's best for you, Mycroft…" John stated.

"He'll go himself, John. It would be better if I took him." Sherlock helped his brother to his feet and sent a text to John with his free hand. John looked at his phone and nodded to Sherlock before Sherlock began to help Mycroft out of his flat.

Mycroft stared blankly out of the window of the cab. His eyes saw the shadow of Lestrade everywhere. Moving across a wall, striding over the cement… Everywhere he looked he could see Lestrade, sense him.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, standing outside of his door. Mycroft slowly got out of the car and began to walk towards Bart's. A man walked by and Mycroft instantly hated him, he knew the smell of that cologne and it did _not _belong on that man, it only belonged on Lestrade. "Leave him, Mycroft…" Sherlock insisted, grabbing Mycroft by the arm and leading him into Bart's. The pair found themselves in the morgue quickly. Molly took one look at the brothers and frowned.

"Lestrade?" She inquired. "I don't think I should—"

"Let us see the body, Molly." Sherlock demanded, still holding onto his big brother. Mycroft shakes away Sherlock's grip and follows Molly to a silver table that is draped with a white cloth. Molly looked up at the brothers before she slowly began to remove the sheet. Mycroft stared down into Lestrade's face with tears in his eyes. He glanced down his entire body, spotting the bullet wound in his heart and wincing.

He slowly leaned down and brushed Lestrade's silvery hair with his fingers. He pressed a gentle kiss to the man's lips before standing up again, unable to remain in the room with a man who should still be alive. "Thank you, Miss Hooper." Mycroft stated before leaving the room, Molly and Sherlock right behind him.

"Mr. Holmes?" Molly asked when they were out of the room.

"Yes?"

"He had… I have a box of his things…if you'd like them." Molly said shyly, upset.

"I would…like that, thanks." Mycroft said, tears rolling down his cheeks. Molly handed him the box gently. Sherlock smiled at her slightly before guiding his brother back to the car. Mycroft didn't open the box as they drove towards his flat, he just stared at it.

Mycroft got out of the car and walked into his flat on auto-pilot. He didn't even hear Sherlock speaking to John about giving Mycroft some time alone. Mycroft merely walked to _their_ old room and stared at the man sitting in the chair, laughing lightly. The man was beautiful, silver hair and bright blue eyes. Mycroft blinked and the man disappeared.

He turned to the bed to see that the man hadn't left, he was merely sitting on the bed.

"You had better have your phone off. No one gets to disturb us tonight, Myc." Lestrade's voice echoed from the past. Mycroft closed his eyes, remembering the way they had made love for the first time that night, the way Greg's hands had felt against his skin… The way it felt to be thoroughly loved.

Mycroft shook his head to clear it and walked to the bed. He sat down and plucked up Greg's pillow, smelling his scent on it before wrapping an arm firmly around it. He opened the bock with his free hand and pulled free the first thing his hand touched. It was a pair of Greg's shoes…shoes that Mycroft had wanted to replace because of their age, but Greg had insisted that they were perfectly worn and comfortable.

The second thing that came from the box was a bag of Greg's clothing. Mycroft could see the blood through the bag, and even though his badge was in the bag he couldn't bring himself to go through it just yet. The next thing Mycroft found was a leather wallet. Mycroft flipped through it, finding a picture of Greg and himself, which made his heart crack a bit. He found Greg's phone next and unlocked it, easily guessing the code. On it was a half-written text addressed to Mycroft himself, asking for help, but it never got sent.

Mycroft grew angry and knocked the empty box off of the bed. Well…he thought the box had been empty.

A small black, velvet bag slid out of the box and onto the floor, the draw strings pulled together tightly. Mycroft could tell that Lestrade had opened and closed the bag hundreds of times, nervously… Mycroft slowly bent down and picked up the bag. He slowly opened it and tipped the light contents onto his waiting palm.

A simple gold ring landed in the center of Mycroft's palm. That little piece of metal gained a thousand pounds in a split second.

Lestrade had bought a wedding band…

Said band had an engraving on the inside of it…

_I love you, Mycroft._

Pain surged through Mycroft when he looked down at the ring. He moved to slide it onto his left hand, but then he paused; only Greg reserved that right. Instead Mycroft slid the ring onto his right hand, a perfect fit. Mycroft was left wondering how the Inspector had known the precise size of his fingers. Mycroft cleared off the bed and cuddled Lestrade's pillow, staring at the golden band on his finger until he succumbed to sleep hours later.

888

Mycroft went to the funeral, but he didn't say goodbye. He didn't have to…he was still seeing Greg Lestrade all over the place in his head, in his dreams, in his nightmares. Mycroft was pleased to know that the man who had harmed Greg was dead, but had wished for something a little more painful for that man.

Sherlock and John stayed in Mycroft's flat for two weeks, until Mycroft noticed how uncomfortable they were around the rather quiet and less snarky Mycroft. They too were grieving Lestrade and Mycroft felt bad for holding them down. He convinced them to move back into their own flat and dug himself back into his work, trying to get everything in order…

It took two extra weeks, but he had everything prepared. John had searched the flat for any sort of weapon that Mycroft could have used to hurt himself with, but he missed Lestrade's second gun, hidden under a floorboard. Mycroft sat on their bed and stared at the gun while he dialed the number…as he had hoped, he'd gotten voicemail.

888

Sherlock woke up with John cuddled into his side. He smiled slightly before he got up, getting dressed and ready for the day. By the time he had reached the living room John was already sitting in a chair. "I think you've got a message." John commented. Sherlock sat down, violin in hand as he played his voicemail.

_You have one new message… _"_I'm sorry…" _Mycroft's voice was barely a whisper. Sherlock and John's eyes met, both of them panicked. They both hurried as quickly as they could to Mycroft's flat.

The doors that led to the bedroom were locked and Sherlock rammed them with his shoulder to open them.

888

Mycroft hung up the phone and looked down at the bed. Greg Lestrade looked back up at him, sad slightly, but doing his best to hide it. "Don't worry, Greg…" Mycroft promised. "I'll be there in a moment." Mycroft lifted the gun and without hesitance, pulled the trigger…the bang echoed through the room as Mycroft's body fell limply to the bed, blood dripping from his temple.

* * *

**Review? And please go watch the video and give all credit there on Youtube, please?**


End file.
